


Could There Be Another Universe

by geckoholic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Patty is an officer in the fleet, a captain, and she should have no business visiting the pleasure circuit. Marina runs theEchelon, and she should have no business with Patty, full stop.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



> For the prompt, _Oh it isn't a relationship. It couldn't be farther from that. Still sleeping with one's enemy can lead to some fantastic sex._ Well. You know. Kinda. XD
> 
> Beta-read by lustyjustice and kiss_me_cassie. Thank you both!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Undefeated" by Incubus.

The pleasure circuit is busy at this time of night, often busier than during the day. Here in the capitol there are more strays roaming the streets than respectable citizens, and those, per definition, prefer the shroud of darkness and avoid the harsh and unforgiving light. Easier to duck out of sight, hide their faces, guard the red warnings on their registration bracelets under long sleeves. Patty doesn't have any such concerns, no one to run from, and the clear blue captain's insignia on her bracelet would benefit her rather than cause trouble. 

Well, anywhere but here, it would. The pleasure circuit is a world of it's own; the usual rules don't apply. And so Patty pulls the sleeve of her civilian attire down to the heel of her hand and glances over her shoulder, the nervousness of this place grabbing hold of her, making her as paranoid as any of its regular inhabitants. It's a short walk from the harbor to the _Echelon_ , ten minutes if you know your way through the maze of dark alleys, infinitely more if you get lost. But Patty's been here many times before, doesn't even have to look around and think about which corner to turn anymore. She draws her coat tighter around her body and speeds up her pace, until the obnoxious neon sign of her destination bathes the alleyway in blue and yellow lights. Blue and yellow – the colors of the commercial space fleet, and same as the name, it's a mockery of her profession. Years ago that would have ruffled her feathers. These days she can't even muster up a tired eye roll. She's seen enough – done enough – to understand that not everything that shines on the surface is good and solid all the way through. A fair few of these people have ended up on the wrong end of a business deal through no fault of their own, simply by getting in the way. To the fleet, people are numbers, nothing more; parts of a calculation, be it as a commodity or customers. 

Patty slows to a standstill in front of the swing doors, listens to the loud and heady music streaming out onto the street. She shakes her head, massages her temples with her thumbs. Those are heavy thoughts for a night off, and she's not here to contemplate the state of humanity or the unsavory aspects of her work. That, she could do just fine back on the ship. Tonight, none of that matters. Tonight, the only interests she's serving are her own. 

She steps through the doors and grins at Hakim, the barkeeper. There are three of them, cycling through continuous shifts because the _Echelon_ never closes. He looks tired, deep purple bruises under his eyes, but he smiles back and gives her a thumbs up. Patty is a regular. A lot of the patrons are. Around here, it's somewhat inadvisable to just stroll into a bar or shop on your own, without company that can vouch for you the first couple times. Booze is illegal, technically, and so is sex work. Everyone's suspicious. 

She's been sitting at her usual stool by the bar for maybe fifteen minutes when she hears a telltale click of heels on the floor, headed in her direction. She doesn't turn, keeps sipping her whiskey and watching Hakim work, watching him flirt with men and women alike, making sure their wallets are loose and their appetites stoked. 

The clicking stops, and she feels the weight of someone's hand on her shoulder. “Patricia. Haven't seen you in a while. Thought you might have gotten it into your head that you're too good for us.” 

Patty swivels around on her chair and hefts an eyebrow, looks her newfound company up and down. “Ah, Marina, no such illusions anymore. And I don't remember ever offering to let you call me by my first name.” 

And while she's right, it's been awhile, Marina hasn't changed. Still the same low-cut dresses, still the same short skirts and killer heels; still one hell of a Venus flytrap waiting to lure in unsuspecting idiots and then bite their heads off. Quite literally, sometimes. If it weren't for her family, her _pedigree_ , effective protection even though she's fallen off the path of the rich and righteous, Marina's mug shot would decorate the most wanted list in every company office from here to the Milky Way. As it is, Marina is basically untouchable. Patty would know. She's done her fair share of running up against that particular windmill. 

“I'm sorry, _Captain Crane_ ,” Marina sing-songs, smirking, and gives her the same once over, although hers is a damn lot closer to being leery. “Pardon me for assuming that having licked each other's private parts makes us acquaintances.” 

It does not, and Marina knows that as well as anyone, but Patty surely doesn't mind her habit of getting straight to the point. She does, however, rather mind the mention of her rank, her title, and the whispers that causes nearby. 

“For fuck's sake,” she hisses, and it takes some willpower not to cower, try and hide her face, a self-preservation instinct that would only make her look guiltier. “Keep your voice down.” 

Marina's hand returns to Patty's shoulder, squeezes, not as hard as she could but also not all that gently. “Look around you. Half of the people here know you, know who you are and don't care, and the rest are too drunk to remember much of anything they heard tonight.”

And maybe that's true; she's woven into the fabric of this place at this point. Just one of the people who shed their identity, their outside lives, once they enter the _Echelon_. Everyone's reasons are different, but the effect is the same. 

Letting her hand slide off Patty's shoulder, slowly, a caress, Marina sits down on the stool next to her. Now that pleasantries have been exchanged – or unpleasantries, probably, as it were – she mellows out a little, her posture more relaxed, more openly flirty. She sits with her feet on the rods of the long chair, her legs wide, one hand braced on the seat between them. Hakim slides a drink her way, tall glass with a straw, several bright colors swirling into each other, no doubt a sickeningly sweet affair. 

She takes a slug through her straw, past pursed lips, then smacks them when she pops off it. She looks at Patty from under her lashes, and Patty wishes she would stop putting on a show, stop pretending, but knows she doesn't have any right for demands. 

“Did you miss me?” she says, low, conspiratorial. “Is that why you're here?” 

And Patty wants to say no, wants to pretend it's because people like Marina exist without ever learning what it feels like to be turned down, to have their wants and desires ignored. But while Marina might still be pretty and technically rich, it's common knowledge that her life hasn't been easy in a while. She wouldn't be here otherwise. No one chooses the _Echelon_ , not even those who end up running it. That still doesn't mean Patty has any plans to surrender so quickly, though. 

“Maybe,” she allows, eyes trained on her drink. She shakes the glass a bit, watches the clear amber liquid swirl. “Or maybe I've just gotten bored.” 

“Boredom is as good a reason as any for a visit down here in the pit,” says Marina, and slurps down another long slug through her straw. The glass is two thirds empty already. “Shall we see if I can keep you entertained?” 

Patty is about to turn her down, because that's part of the game and if she'd say yes on the first try, give in that quickly, Marina might eventually lose interest in chasing her. Immediate agreement is for clients, and Patty hasn't had to pay for Marina's private affections in a long time, longer than it took Marina to move up from merchandise to merchant. Then Marina puts her hand on her neck, gently stroking her thumb against the tense, knotted muscles there, and when Patty meets her eyes she's already sliding off her stool. 

She still waits until Patty has taken a few steps toward the narrow metal staircase and half-turns, her hand held out in offer. “Come on, Captain. Let me assume command for a little while.” 

 

*** 

 

Patty undresses in front of the large, dirty window that makes up one side of Marina's private quarters on the third floor. Years ago, she had been bothered by that, worried someone might see. By now she understands that, even if anyone did see, no one would care. Not for her nudity, not for status, not for whatever she's doing up here in an illegal bar-slash-whorehouse, and with a known criminal nonetheless. She simply enjoys the view, spectacular if not pretty, the lights of the pleasure district below them blurred by the rain running down the glass in rivulets. It must have started raining within the past fifteen minutes; the night sky had been clear when she arrived. 

When she's naked she folds her clothes into a neat pile by the bed – force of habit – and climbs onto the mattress. She listens to the patter of the rain, to the splash of old-fashioned cars driving through puddles on the rough roads. This room is far enough from the bar, from the floor with the playrooms, that these sounds are closer than the bass of the music, the voices and moans barely dulled by the paper-thin walls that separate the once large rooms on the second floor into smaller spaces. This building is older than anything she knows or remembers, older than the fleet and its intergalactic transactions. It belongs to a time when people looked up at the sky and saw possibilities, dreams, and not the symbol of an oppressive system they learned to despise. 

Her thoughts are interrupted when Marina saunters out of the bathroom, still wearing the dress but not the heels, her hair done up in a messy bun, all the makeup washed off her face. Marina sits on the edge of the bed and smiles, lets her gaze roam all over Patty's body. Years ago that would have bothered her too, someone seeing all her scars, the road map of agony both doled out and received, but Marina's proven that she doesn't care for these marks, nor for the slight pouch low on her belly that she can't diet away anymore or the fact that her tits have begun sagging. 

“You're beautiful,” Marina says, as if she guessed Patty's train of thought, in a tone that's more reverent than she deserves. 

It makes Patty avert her gaze, look at her own hands where they're folded in her lap, and Marina tsks, her voice more authoritative, more like a command, when she speaks again. 

“Touch yourself,” she orders, and Patty has been following her instructions for so long that obedience is immediate and accompanied by a wave of relief. Her legs part almost on their own, spread wide, and she doesn't concern herself with making a show. She rubs between her labia, already wet and slick, concentrating on what feels good, what gets her pulse racing, makes her moan. Marina's eyes on her are a bonus, not the purpose; the point, for now, is getting her to relax. 

She barely notices that the bed dips, not until Marina's hand joins hers, their fingers intertwined, taking over responsibility for this, too. Marina directs her speed, the intensity with which Patty teases her clit; makes both less forgiving. Arousal washes over Patty like a warm ocean wave on the beach, and she whines when Marina's grip on her hand tightens and makes her withdraw. Marina shushes her, the same calming noise one would use on a cornered animal, and it makes Patty's cheeks heat up with embarrassment, with need and shame alike. 

Both are forgotten when Marina's done arranging herself between Patty's legs and licks a long strip down her cleft, from the edge of her cunt all the way to her taint, then parts her a little more and pushes her tongue against Patty's mount with a little more intent and pressure this time. The muscles in Patty's thighs are starting the quake, and she can hear her herself, moaning, panting, doesn't find any shame in herself about that. Then Marina's hand slides up her stomach, all the way up to her breasts, clever fingers rubbing at a nipple until it's peaked and then pinching it suddenly and without mercy, tweaking, twisting, and Patty keens with it, the contrast of pleasure and that small twinge of pain nearly causing her arousal to crest. 

But Marina tsks again, then leans back, making Patty groan at the loss of contact. “Not yet.” 

Clothes rustle as Marina moves on the bed, sitting up and peeling herself out of her dress, then discarding bra and panties, all of it surely landing in a messy heap by the foot of the bed, next to Patty's own clothes in their neat pile, and it makes laughter bubble in her chest at how apt an analogy that is: her neat, tightly controlled appearance and the wild, seemingly careless mess that is Marina. They're not supposed to fit together, and they don't, not really, not enough for _love_ and _forever_ , but they're similar enough that those differences may be ignored, if only for a little while. 

Marina lays down next to her, now naked as well, and with need thrumming through her veins and making her nerves sing the touch of skin on skin seems like the best thing that Patty's ever felt, will ever feel. She grabs around, blindly, and draws her closer, wants to feel more of Marina's body against her own, make them touch as much as possible. Marina leans up to kiss her and that hadn't even entered her mind, but now that they're doing it she agrees that yes, yes, it's a good idea, and they don't part while Marina rearranges herself, now straddling Patty's thighs, bent down so that her breasts are touching Patty's chest, supporting her own weight on one arm. Patty's arms close around her waist, urging her closer, and in return Marina's hand wanders between their bodies, fingers pushing inside Patty's cunt, gentle but relentless, while her thumb circles Patty's clit. She crooks and scissors them, rocking above and against her, and even though the angle isn't quite right and the pressure a little off center, Patty comes on a long, shuddering exhale, groaning, the sound swallowed by Marina's mouth still sealed to hers. 

She deflates, breaks the kiss, snuggling into the pillows while Marina's fingers continue moving between them, this time to achieve her own release. Only then does she slide off Patty's body and lay down beside her, her hand wrapped loosely around Patty's wrist; not holding her hand, not twining their fingers, but grounding her all the same. 

 

***

 

Patty stays until morning. They don't actually sleep; their time together is too scarce, and then there's the issue of trust. At this point Patty's reasonably sure Marina won't cut her throat in her sleep or make off with her registration bracelet – neither of them wants the other dead or captured anymore – but squirreling away some piece of regulation clothing or a few credits, yeah. That's a possibility. 

She watches the sunrise while sat on Marina's bed, resting against the headboard, Marina herself situated against her chest. The sky is blue and orange and pink, and nearly cloudless. It's peaceful. It's deceiving. 

“You'll be heading out again soon?” Marina asks, and she's too good at what she does for it to sound anything but casual. 

“Yeah,” Patty replies, noncommittal. They've done this dance countless times before. Information is a commodity, it pays well, and Marina is all about good business. “Today or tomorrow. They're not sure yet.” 

That's a lie. Patty received the papers for her next assignment yesterday morning, detailing time and destination of the flight and briefing her on the expected results. 

Turning in her arms, Marina looks up to meet her eyes. “I heard they're planning another raid on Lunar 4. Maybe next week.”

“I can't talk about that,” says Patty, annoyance rising within her. She'll return to the fleet very soon. It's the last thing she wants to talk about, and it doesn't matter that she'll be heading to the other end of the solar system. “You know I can't.” 

Marina raises her hand, touching Patty's face, and Patty can't help a slight flinch at the unexpected touch. “I'm not asking. I'm telling.” Her face is unreadable, with a nuance that might translate into sadness, regret. “Be careful. That's all I can say. Just be careful.” 

Fear wants to crawl its way up Patty's throat, but she's been working that job for too long to give in. Every assignment is dangerous in some way or other, and they all have the potential to go violently south. Keeping a level head is what's kept her alive so far. She has no plans to change that strategy. Especially not when it's pointless, when she already knows she won't be anywhere near the raid in question. 

She threads her fingers through Marina's hair, kisses her in a silent show of gratitude. They break the kiss, both smiling at each other; a unit for a few hours every couple of months, despite their secrets and opposing allegiances. 

The siren for the factory workers, the remaining few legitimate inhabitants of the living quarters surrounding the pleasure circuit, roars in the distance and reminds Patty that they're on borrowed time already. She needs to get dressed and be on her way. The fleet doesn't take kindly to tardiness. 

She walks back the same way she came, the dark alleys now illuminated by harsh daylight and made so much uglier, like a club with the house lights on. There are very few people up and about at this time, save for the workers, and those who cross her path eye her with suspicion. And that makes sense; without the dark, she can't hide her otherness either, how misplaced she seems around here. She catches a few glares walking past the gate towards the company grounds, maybe jealous of the ticket out of here that her status as a Captain in the fleet grants her, maybe disdainful of working for the company in the first place. 

Patty can still taste Marina on her lips as she walks past the guard on duty, scans her bracelet for access to the head office. She can still hear her voice, conjure up her face as she gave the warning. _Just be careful._ There's a large blackboard by the mess hall, showing all the ongoing missions, and she flinches inwardly when at least three of them that were heading to Sector E yesterday are now displaying flights into Sector B. They're all short missions, a week at most – not unusual for targets so close to Earth. 

Lunar 4 is a part of Sector B. 

She's scanning the board for her own flight number, but before she can find the right line someone touches her upper arm. Patty startles, but keeps her back straight, and turns with a blank expression, the very picture of professional composure. 

She's met with the face of Commander Yeoh, snaps to attention for a formal greeting, glances down when he shoves a stack of papers at her instead of returning it. 

“Your new orders, Captain Crane,” he says, looking her over like a drill sergeant on the first day of assessing new recruits. “Make yourself familiar.” 

Then he's gone, and Patty doesn't wait to take the short walk towards her office and look at the orders in private. Nervousness makes her hands shake a little – not fear, not fear, it's not fear, she just dislikes being ambushed at the last minute, it makes the flight preparations so much more difficult – she sorts through the paperwork right then and there, until she finds the new coordinates. 

She's not surprised to find that they're for a large settlement in one of the three active colonies on Lunar 4.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
